


Two Years

by TheRealSEHinton



Category: The Outsiders - All Media Types, The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: M/M, guys people need to write more jally fanfic, ily alfred, omg i haven't written in foreva, omg i wrote this in 20 minutes, this is for alfred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:47:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25076353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRealSEHinton/pseuds/TheRealSEHinton
Summary: Two years ago, we stood at the edge of the world together.And for some reason that led to me saying, “Let’s go then.”And for some reason, he said, “Okay.”
Relationships: Johnny Cade/Dallas Winston
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	Two Years

**Author's Note:**

> heyo it's been foreva since i've written, forgive me if this sucks <3 there's literally no more jally content so someone needs ta do something here. please write more jally, i need to be fed. this is for alfred and it's very soft, extremely soft. i'm not usually a softy writer so forgive me if it seems weird <3 omg also, it's pretty short

My mind always turns to mush when I wake up, it’s flooded with so many thoughts that I can’t even manage to think.

His eyes are the first thing I see in the morning, open or closed. Smiling, blissful, or asleep. That’s when I realize those worms slipping inside my brain aren’t really thoughts, they’re emotions, they’re memories. So fuzzy, so far away, yet tangible. So painful, but endearing.

Whenever I wake up next to him, especially today, I think of how I wouldn’t have been here five years ago. 

Five years ago, I wouldn’t have a warm body beside me. I’d be in a rusty cell maybe, cold, dark, damp, alone. My body would be aching, cramped, from a sleepless night spent on metal or concrete, something that wasn’t even an actual bed. I would open my eyes to steel bars and remind myself about how I was trapped, and that’s how I would spend the rest of my life. In a cage, confined to a life of solitude and emptiness. And I would pretend that that’s what I wanted. I didn’t want to belong to anyone, I didn’t want a life that wasn’t the one I lived. This was what I liked, what I had to like, because it was never going to change.

He’s still sleeping. He doesn’t snore, he just makes small, peaceful noises to remind me that the nightmares have stopped. Those early nights of reliving the past and all the pain it carried are so far away from the present moment, it doesn’t even seem real. It’s strange to remember a time that wasn’t now. So perfect, euphoric, a dream almost. The fact that I can wake up and be able to touch and feel this new world, the fact that I’ve stopped worrying about it all slipping away too soon, is enough to make me want to cry.

Walking to the kitchen feels almost surreal. Making a cup of coffee, using a functioning microwave, turning on switches, and feeling the heat of the stove doesn’t register as my reality sometimes. I’ve never known what mundane meant, neither of us did. 

Four years ago, I didn’t even have a home. There was my dad’s house, I guess, but it never felt like a place where I belonged. I would sneak in when I needed clothes, I would stay in my room for weeks when I felt like the whole world was collapsing and I didn’t have anything to hold onto, but every second spent there felt like a ticking time bomb. I wasn’t safe, I wasn’t secure.

When the coffee machine beeps, the sound is so pleasing and warm--almost like an embrace. But it doesn’t compare to the way he wraps his arms around me once he wakes up, the way he pulls my back to his chest and says in a sleepy voice, “Good morning, Dal.”

Three years ago, we wouldn’t have been this close. There was a fear trapped in my cold fingers whenever we touched, even by accident, one that was stronger than the heat in my face when he laughed. Everything felt wrong, out of place. I felt too okay, too sheltered, and I couldn’t handle that. That blossoming feeling in my chest, in my stomach, was so good I wanted to throw it up. Any ounce of decency I felt, I wanted gone. I didn’t deserve any of it, and I didn’t deserve him. I would go out of my way to avoid him and how he made me feel, and I would pretend my heart didn’t break when I saw the look on his face. I would pretend the only thing that mattered was myself.

Now I see him smile, I hear his bubbling laughter, and I let myself feel overwhelmed. The joy fills me up and it’s alright. That feeling that runs through my body doesn’t scare me away, I want more of it. I love it.

When I set the plate down in front of him, when he sees the messy eggs and overcooked bacon and misshapen pancakes, he’s already biting his lip, holding back his tears maybe. I see the shine in his eyes when I sit down next to him. They’re almost overflowing when I take his hand in mine and kiss his cheek softly, when I say, “Happy two years, Johnny.”

Two years ago, we stood at the edge of the world together. Our hands were so close and we didn’t mind. We were both on the swings, halfheartedly kicking our feet, and trying to pretend we didn’t care about the fresh bruises on his face, instead talking about mindless things like Pony moving and the boys coming back from Vietnam. We only succeeded for a few minutes. I had never seen him so angry with his folks before. I had never seen him so upset with his life, so determined to want it gone.

And for some reason that led to me saying, “Let’s go then.”

And for some reason, he said, “Okay.”

It was the middle of the night when we left Tulsa. We didn’t care about a thing, we just followed the wind and let the stars guide us to wherever. We left notes at the Curtis house, packed up our things, and were gone. The radio was playing some sappy music, I was too giddy to change it. And then at some point, we both realized how happy we were.

“I’ve never felt like this my entire life, Dal,” he said.

I smiled, the biggest smile, even bigger than back when I was a kid. “Me neither.”

We were at a red light, no one was around. There was nothing but fields and plains surrounding us. Then he turned my head to him and kissed me. When he pulled away I was expecting him to apologize, say something about how he didn’t mean to, about how I could hate him if I wanted to. But he just sat there looking at me, waiting for me to respond.

I didn’t, I just kissed him back.

I’m looking at him now, tears welling up in his eyes, and he’s kissing me again. And sometimes he whispers things in between our lips, meaningless, loving things. It’s all too much for me but I know that I can handle it now. I love him.  


“Happy two years, Dal,” he says.


End file.
